Creative Enclave: "Celestia" by Wendell Ward
by Wendell Ward
Her style was musty thrift store, And I swear I saw a mite
Buzzing the dried-up feather
She’d taped to her Robin Hood hat.
Her lashes: a burned-out forest
Clumped with ashes and soot,
But her eyes! How they smoldered—so fervid! We had dinner later that night.
She insisted on tacos and brätwurst, Which seemed a ridiculous coupling, But it was a food-truck festival,
And I did feel suddenly daring.
At moonrise she sucked on a snow cone, And gnawing it like a squirrel,
Her cold blue lips they erupted
With a cackle startlingly feral.
I stared at the sickly-sweet syrup
Dribbling down her chin
As she yanked on her three-ringed earlobes, Shouted “brain freeze” then “kiss me, you loon!”
At midnight we pitched a tent
In her mother’s (and father’s!) backyard, And reveled in tacos and brätwurst
(In the metaphorical sense of the words).